


Black Ballerina

by jedia_lo21



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Attempted Kidnapping, Ballet Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, Dark Victor Nikiforov, Fluff and Angst, Kidnapping, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Bondage, Possessive Victor Nikiforov, Protective Victor Nikiforov, Thriller, butterfly collecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 11:02:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18387119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedia_lo21/pseuds/jedia_lo21
Summary: Withdrawn and lonely, Victor works as a mortgage assistant and collects butterflies in his spare time. When he's forced to attend a ballet production, he grows obsessed with the exquisite Principal ballet dancer, Yuuri Katsuki.But obsessions may be too hard to resist...





	Black Ballerina

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoyed writing this! Thank you for reading! Also, sorry for any errors!

There was a routine Viktor liked to follow when beginning a new spread.

He pulled his toolkit off the shelf in the study and set it down on the work table. Inside was the wooden spreader board he’d built, the box of pins, a couple forceps, and tracer paper. He lifted each item out carefully and placed them around the desk, neat and square, so nothing seemed messy.

He opened up the closet next and drew out a tupperware box taped tightly shut. He placed it in the center of the work table and sliced the tape away with a scalpel. The box was lined with paper towels moistened with water and pine sol. And resting on the square of window netting was the delicate body of the specimen.

Viktor smiled and reached for his forceps. This was one of his favorite parts. Lifting the specimen out of the relaxation chamber. It was like opening a present on Christmas. The bay windows overhead let sunlight pour into the study. Bright rays of light glinted across the tiny scales covering the specimen’s wings, making them glitter as Viktor lifted it out of the box and turned it back and forth in the light. He sucked in a breath, willing the sudden burning of his eyes away as the beauty of it nearly brought him to tears.

He wanted to stroke the velvety wings, but doing so would rub away the scales and erase the beauty. There was a magnificent creature caught between the ends of his forceps, and its wings were colorful mosaics of seductful intrigue. They were not for touching.

Only preserving.

Viktor reached for the spreader bar and measured the width carefully. He reached for a size 2 pin and impaled the soft thorax. The sharp line of metal slid through the body with ease. Viktor leaned back to inspect the pinning from a distance. It was perfect. The needle was straight and perpendicular to the axis of the body.

He nestled the specimen into the spreader board and began.

 

***

 

Before he met Yuuri, Viktor’s life was simply dull and lifeless.

Everyday brought the same routine.

He woke up every morning right before dawn to sit on the porch and watch the sun come up. He would stroke the curls on his dog’s head as she lounged at his feet and watch the butterflies descend from the hill into the flower fields. Once the streaks of pink in the sky faded to blue, he returned to the kitchen inside and sat at his small table with a black coffee and the newest issue of Lepidopt Fanatic or the local paper. And then he would dress for work and head into the city just as the morning traffic dispersed.

Viktor worked as an administrative assistant at Hypower Mortgage. The job was quiet and easy. He typed up loan inquiry reports, organized the executive’s calendar and travel schedule, and managed the tracking reports and vendor lists for builders.

A fairly boring life. Simple and easy- but boring.

And he had no one else but his dog and specimens as company.

The men that worked at Hypower Mortgage were red-faced and boisterous. They swaggered around the office in their department store suits. On Thursday and Friday nights, they all headed down the street to the nearest bars or strip clubs after shifts, all together like a pack of flea-infested street dogs. They blew their money on whores and good scotch, poker, and fine cigars. They lived like they banked six figure salaries. But every night they returned to their homes, to their wives and children, smelling of alcohol, smoke, and the faint scent of perfume.

The few women at the mortgage office were all single and desperate. They left their collared shirts scandalously unbuttoned. They swung their hips knowingly down the halls and lounged in the break room chairs with legs parted under their short skirts like an invitation.

Viktor hated them.

 

***

 

It was chance, or perhaps fate, that he even met Yuuri.  _ Saw _ him, technically, for the first time from a distance.

The director of the American Ballet Theatre Company was retiring at the end of the season and moving into the city. His company was on tour and hosting a performance at a larger venue downtown. Still negotiating a $500,000 mortgage deal with Viktor’s boss, the director had offered tickets for the executive and his wife to see his Don Quixote production. Last minute, the poor wife had come down with something and was forced to stay home and miserably in bed.

Viktor was sitting at his desk and squinting at a report on the computer screen when his boss stopped by his cubicle. There was an uncomfortable silence as the heavy figure of the man loomed over him. Viktor tightened his fingers on the desk and shot the executive an irritated glance. The man just stared down at him, brown eyes inquisitive.

“You’re Russian, yeah?” He muttered gruffly.

Viktor blinked and nodded, wondering at the sudden and strange inquiry.

“Then you must like ballet. Here.”

Viktor didn’t even have a chance to protest as two tickets landed gracelessly in the bowl of beef stir fry that was his lunch. His head snapped up and the objection he wanted to make lodged in his throat as he watched his boss disappear down the hall.

Viktor scooped the two tickets up and wiped them off with a napkin.

“What you got there, sugar?” Diane’s syrupy voice sounded above him. The blonde-haired woman, one of the temps, was leaning over the cubicle wall, jaw cradled in her palm.

“Guess I’m going to the ballet tonight.”

“Hmm. Looking for an escort, hon? I’d be happy to help you out,” she grinned and fluttered her lashes at him. Viktor looked into her baby blue eyes glinting with eagerness and something like desire. He felt almost bad for her. But his stomach was feeling sick.

“There’s no need. I already have someone in mind.”

Her eyes dimmed with displeasure and she grumbled out a petty “fine” before disappearing back to her cubicle.

Viktor didn’t have the heart to tell her that both of the tickets would be going into the trash at home.

He also didn’t have the heart to tell her that he hated anything to do with ballet.

***

 

Viktor was the son of new money in Russia.

It was next to impossible to glean this information simply by looking at him. He didn’t flaunt his wealth, and while he did live in an expensive home and owned designer clothes, people dismissed him as just another member of the middle class pretending to be rich.

He was wealthy, but he spent so little of his money that he didn’t even label himself a wealthy man.

His mother, Lilia Baranovskaya, had been a renowned prima ballerina in the Bolshoi Ballet from 1981 until 1990 when an impromptu pregnancy forced her to end her contract and retire the stage. His mother had never forgiven him for tearing her away from the world of ballet, but as artistic director of her own ensemble, she still managed to draw the gaze of the wealthy as if she’d never left the glare of the spotlight.

His father, Yakov Feltsman, was the chairman and CEO of Kunosy, an oil industry in Moscow that became one of the most successful companies in Russia after the Soviet dissolution. It had been a while since Viktor had shown much interest in catching up with his father or economic politics, but he was sure that Kunosy was still responsible for at least 20% of oil output in Russia.

To put it lightly, Viktor was the son of two very successful people that showed as much interest in their marriage as they did to their own son. The last time he had spoken to either one of them was 9 years ago when he announced halfway through a cocktail party that he was leaving Russia and moving to the states. They had barely put up a fight, knowing at least that Viktor did what he wanted and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.

His father snapped that he was a selfish idiot and a disgrace to the family. His mother was quieter, but the sharpness of her emerald eyes betrayed her disappointment. “You always were a fool, Vitya,” she murmured to him coldly, before she turned and disappeared into the throng of party guests. Viktor watched her go. His heart clenched, but only for a moment before he told himself that it was the best blessing he was bound to get from them.

He didn’t see his mother again after that.

While neither of his parents showed much parental affection or love, they still managed to track down his address in the states after he left. There was a card in the mail every year on his birthday. If his parents were truly angry the year they sent it, it would become a ‘Christmas Greetings’ card with their last names written haphazardly inside And in his bank account every other month they still transferred a heavy sum of money he never bothered to find the balance of.

 

***

 

The seats in the theater were uncomfortably hard. The red canvas fabric was stained in some places. Viktor did not want to think too much about what each mystery mark could be. He crossed his legs and rested his clenched fists in his lap. Best not to touch too much of the seat.

His boss had called him right before he left and demanded to know everything that happened in the production, and to give him a copy of the program in case the director brought up his show during their negotiations.

Viktor helplessly agreed. His stomach roiled when he reached into the trash can back home to fish out one of the tickets.

The soft chatter in the auditorium faded. The lights dimmed and the curtains opened.

The first dancers stepped out on doe-like legs, grotesque feet arched so they bounded out on the tips of their toes. Viktor sank his nails into his palms.

He hated ballet.

His eyes skipped uninterestedly over the dancers in the prologue and the first of Act One. Each body moved perfectly to the music. Every dancer on stage was in tune with one another, perfectly in synch, and while Viktor appreciated their dedication to the technicalities of the performance, he was decidedly bored.

Until  _ he  _ stepped out…

The change in music signified the introduction of the lead character, the beautiful Kitri.

And beautiful was the dancer.

He was delicate and graceful, limbs soft-looking and yet toned with powerful muscle. Raven black hair was slicked back, but silky strands still escaped to lay deliciously on creamy skin. Doe brown eyes glistened under the lights, and Viktor strained forward as if he could see them clearer. And dammit, he was too far away to make out the details of such an exquisite creature.

He played the feminine part beautifully, better than any dancer Viktor had ever seen. It was rare to see a male dance en pointe, and yet, the talented feet were laced in black pointe shoes. His costume was mostly black. The long sleeves of the fabric hugged his arms and flashed every graceful move and shift. There were sheer panels that ran up and down the dancer’s body, showing off the delicate shape of his back and ravishing flashes of skin. Red-colored gems bloomed from his right shoulder and down to his left hip like a sash.

A panel half-skirt flitted out from his hip, the underside of which was bright red. Every twirl of the dancer’s body lifted the fabric and snapped it up, flashing the bits of red teasingly to the eyes, drawing the gaze in.

_ Look at me _ , the dancer seemed to say with his body. Every fouette, every leap, every arabesque carried the same sentiment. The same demand.  _ Look at me and only me _ .

A powerful seductress.

Viktor found himself leaning on the edge of his seat, blue eyes locked on the dancer.

A delicate wrist snapped and a beautiful red fan plumed out, carrying with it the sassy ring of the character.

Viktor watched, mesmerized.

 

***

 

The ballet performance signified the beginning of everything. Viktor’s world suddenly tilted, suddenly shattered like a broken mirror, only to reveal something behind the shards that was alien and beautiful. He had never desired another human being in his life, much less something like a lover.

And yet the idea of having Yuuri Katsuki at his side for the rest of his life seemed utterly magnificent.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the raven-haired dancer, the wondrous seductress.

Viktor traced his lips with a sigh and closed his eyes, imagining the velvet feel of lips against his own. He moaned at the image of it painted behind his eyelids, at the feel of it, so  _ real _ against his mouth. He wondered what Yuuri smelled like, what sweet scent would flood his nostrils and make his legs weak...

Viktor snapped his eyes open and shoved the image aside. He reached over the table and grabbed another pin from the box and one of the tracer paper strips.

Years of practice made it easy to find the large vein running across the top margin of the wing. He used the needle’s point to draw the wing up so it seemed to flare and the bottom margin ran perpendicular to the thorax. He sank the pin deep into the tracer paper and board, careful not to puncture the actual wing. Viktor pushed five more pins into the tracer paper along the perimeter of the delicate membrane and then did the same on the other side.

The relaxation chamber had done its job softening out the body again. The supplier he bought the specimens from always froze them in baggies for 72 hours, and when they arrived at Viktor’s house, their bodies were always a bit dry and difficult to open up.

He used another pin, albeit smaller, to draw the two hind wings up and then pin them down beneath the tracer paper.

With that done, he carefully picked up the spreading board and lifted it up so he could see what the specimen would look like on the mounting board. Beautiful. The wings flared nicely, perfectly too. No lopsidedness.

Viktor grinned happily and set the board back down. He fished out two more pins from the box and lifted the specimen’s abdomen carefully so he could push the needles into the board in an X shape. Now the abdomen wouldn’t sag while the specimen dried out again.

He carried the spreading board back to the closet and stowed the specimen in the shelf. It would be another forty-eight hours before he could transfer it to the acrylic frame he bought. But the wait would be worth it when he could finally hang it up on the wall.

 

***

 

“Viktor,” Yuuri whispered desperately. “ _ Viktor _ ….please.  _ Please _ .”

The delicate body strained deliciously under him.

Viktor groaned and sank his fingers into the soft skin of Yuuri’s hips before he hauled him up and kissed him roughly. Yuuri whined helplessly against his mouth. The sound of it made him dizzy, made the room spin in delightful circles. Fingers sank roughly into his silver hair and pulled at the strands. The pain of it was sinful. Intoxicating. Viktor growled and sank his teeth into the delicate lower lip.

The raven-haired man let out a cry. Viktor licked into his mouth and slid his hands down the dancer’s spine, tracing the delicate bones and muscles, down and down and under his leg. He hitched Yuuri’s thigh up and ground his hips helplessly downward.

His beautiful dancer arched his back with a soft cry and Viktor was lost as pleasure spiked up his body. Millions of little lightning strikes tipped with delicious energy spread to every nerve of his body. He threw his head back.

“Oh, Yuuri,” he whispered against soft lips. “ _ Yuuri _ -”

  
  
  


Viktor woke, gasping.

The sheets had been pushed down around his hips. Sweat clung to his temples, pasted silver hair against his nape.

The arousal between his legs was hard and pulsing as the last vestiges of the dream faded away.

The silver-haired man groaned helplessly, slid over the side of the bed, and limped into the bathroom to run another cold shower. The third one of the week.

 

***

 

When the ballet company left the evening after their performance, Viktor thought his heart would shatter at the thought of never seeing Yuuri again. But there was nothing he could do about stopping it.

He figured out the dancer’s name from the program given to the attendees.

A quick Google search had yielded little information except the fact that Yuuri was born in Hasetsu, Kyushu, Japan, was 24 years old, and a Principal dancer of the American Theatre Ballet company in New York.

But it wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t Yuuri’s phone number, or address, or social media accounts.

There was no way to contact him.

The third night Viktor woke in the middle of the night, hard and gasping, he realized that this want would never go away. Something in his heart recognized a piece of his life was missing. A lover. A companion.

He had no life and no love. The two l-words were non-existent.

He never knew this part of himself existed. For 27 years he had never given thought to loving someone, especially in a physical way. There seemed no need for it. He had Makkachin, his sweet dog, and he had his collection of specimens. What else could he possibly want for in life?

Until Yuuri Katsuki crashed into his life with the snap of his black-and-red clad hips. Even the thought of that sensual performance made something in his gut stir. Viktor tamped it down impatiently.

Yes, he wanted Yuuri in a carnal way. He wanted to kiss him, and caress his naked body, and sink into              his warm, wet heat and lose himself in pleasure. And he also wanted to be lost in a sea of chocolate brown eyes. He wanted to be trapped in the mosaic of Yuuri, to sink into him and be swept away. Viktor wanted to run his hands through silken hair and let the strands slip between his fingers. He wanted to map out the contours of Yuuri’s body, to trace every inch of him, and revel in the slide of skin against skin.

He wanted to know what Yuuri’s laughter sounded like. Was his voice deep or high or somewhere else perfectly in between? Was it delicate? Would it be “musical” in the way people often described voices to be?

He wanted to know if Yuuri was as soft and gentle as his body was, and passionate and confident as his dancing was.

There were so many things he wanted to know about Yuuri.

And beneath all that want and pent-up desire that left him aching in the night, there was a subtle yearning for something domestic.

Now when Viktor woke up early to watch the sunrise, now when Viktor drove to work and sat at his computer and typed out reports, he daydreamed.

Of coming home after a long day of work to the smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen. Makkachin would greet him at the door as he toed his shoes off. He’d pet her curls and then lift his head to call for the man in the kitchen. And when he rounded the corner, he would see the delicate body of his lover (of his  _ husband _ ) standing before the stove pretending not to hear him come in. He’d mold himself to Yuuri’s back, slide his arms around his hips, and pull the raven-haired man flush against his body. And soft laughter would accompany a mockingly-exasperated  _ “Viktooor” _ as Yuuri turned in his arms and sealed their mouths with a hard kiss...

It was too good to be true.

And yet it  _ ached _ .

His heart hurt to be torn away from the beautiful dancer.

 

***

 

Three months after Yuuri disappeared from his life, he reappeared just as suddenly as he did before. With the impending retirement of the artistic director, the ballet company decided to put on one more show as a ‘farewell’. Viktor wouldn’t have known about it at all if he hadn’t been cornered by a wanting Diane simpering at him to take her to see the ballet.

He had stared at her dumbfounded for a moment before the reality of it all finally set in.

This was fate. It must be.

Yuuri returned to him.

Even the  _ world _ couldn’t tear him apart from the dancer.

And just that thought had sealed the deal.

Because for three months he had actually been planning for something that might never have come to fruition. The words,  _ “I’m going to kidnap Yuuri” _ , had never  _ really  _ registered in his mind. Never in those precise words. He fantasized about cornering Yuuri in some alley late at night, pressing him against a wall, binding him with rope, and revelling with delight at the feel of the small body struggling against him…but he never told himself that kidnapping was even possible.

And now…he could.

He’d had the money to carry out his plan, so he did, though he never thought that all of it would’ve actually been worth it.

The cellar underground hadn’t ever been used by him. He’d had no use for it until this moment. It had been a wine cellar in its older days. The entrance to it was actually a trap door in the back of the walk-in pantry in his kitchen. A wooden ladder led downward into a small circular space surrounded with stones like a well. There was a door across from the ladder which led into the cellar.

The hallway stretched out nearly a hundred feet with floor-to-ceiling wine racks. And down further was another room, much larger and more spacious than the hallway, where the wine barrels had been stored.

Without really thinking about it, Viktor had called in workers to install electricity in the underground cellar, a new bathroom fixture in the room, plumbing and water, and a heating unit. The workers were a little confounded by all the remodeling Viktor wanted done, but at least they weren’t suspicious.

The silver-haired man was only guided by his daydreams, by the fantasy of having Yuuri Katsuki in his home, in the cellar, in his arms as his alone. So he paid no mind to the cost of everything or how foolish the whole endeavor was.

Yuuri would never stay in the cellar. He would never come back to the city.

And yet, Viktor didn’t stop daydreaming.

He had more than enough money, and at least at the end of everything, he’d have another space he could work in.

He tried to convince himself that this was just a project, that he would turn the space into another workroom.

But everyday he sat in the cellar and daydreamed about trapping Yuuri in here. Of keeping the beautiful dancer in this room forever.

He installed a soft gray carpet, a bed in the corner of the cellar with blue Egyptian cotton sheets, table, nightstand, and set of drawers for clothes. He painted the stone walls a soft blue and hung thick screens to give some padded insulation. He had a small alcove carved out where the bathroom would be and there was a shower and toilet and he had a door put in for privacy. He knocked down part of one wall to reach back into one of the storage spaces in the back of the cellar and turned it into a pantry that held food, plates, and utensils. He bought books of all different genres, and they covered the tables, drawers, floor, and shelves carved out of the walls. And there were pillows everywhere. Strewn across the bed and carpet like a Persian prince’s tent.

He sat in the room in the cellar for many hours each day and imagined all the many things Yuuri would try to do in order to escape. All the power lines at least were unexposed, so if Yuuri knew anything about electrical circuitry, he wouldn’t be able to do anything. All the plates and cutlery were paper and plastic. The table was a flimsy folding one. The clothing drawers were plastic storage units. Even the bed frame was made of assembly plastic. Nothing in the room could be turned into a sharp weapon.

The only thing left to do was install a heavy door to the entrance of the room. In order to block out sound, Viktor had one custom made. Three inch seasoned wood with sheet metal on the inside so Yuuri couldn’t get at the wood.

Fabricating the door made him realize that he wanted Yuuri down here more than anything. Which meant that, technically, he did want to kidnap Yuuri and keep him in the cellar. But they were only daydreams.

Until the ballet company showed up again.

And Viktor realized that his fantasies could actually come true.

That domestic scene could be his.

He could make Yuuri fall in love with him. He could keep the dancer with him just as he kept his specimens preserved nice and neat on the mounting boards.

 

***

 

Viktor didn’t watch the company’s ballet performance. As much as his heart wanted to see Yuuri leaping across the stage again, body making music and drawing Viktor into the melody, he had to figure out a way to take Yuuri.

A bit of needling his boss granted him the information that Yuuri and the rest of the company were staying in the Broadview Hotel. While the ballet performed, Viktor drove out to the building to determine how impossible the whole scheme might be. But the hotel was situated on a nice tract of land, and there were walking paths that snaked through the trees and gardens surrounding the building on all sides. It wasn’t great coverage, but it was enough.

The question was getting Yuuri out of his room.

He couldn’t very well drag him kicking and screaming out of the room and down the halls. The dancer already had to be outside when Viktor grabbed him.

He could possibly lure him down with a delivery. Pretend to be trying to send him something through the front desk. Maybe he could woo him down from his room. Ask for directions to somewhere in the city, to have some drinks in the lounge, to please help him find his car in the parking lot because he might be drunk…

Yes, that could work.

And he’d park his car away from the building.

Viktor planned to knock him out with chloroform. Someone he knew in the Entomology unit at University had let him use it to test a research hypothesis for its preserving abilities. The student hadn’t ever asked for it back, so Viktor had kept the bottle in the bathroom cupboards under the sink for years.

Hopefully it wasn’t too weak.

To be on the safe side, Viktor mixed it with a bit of acetone.

He soaked a rag in the solution and sealed it in a bag which he stuck in his pocket for quick removal. He had never knocked someone out before, but it seemed like covering the mouth and nose was the best option and then waiting for the body to go completely limp. He vowed to hold his breath when he did it to Yuuri to avoid breathing in the fumes and knocking himself out as well.

Done with preparations, Viktor climbed into his car and took off for the hotel.

It wasn’t late for a Friday night. In fact, if Viktor guessed, at least half the company was probably still out drinking. Which meant less people realizing that Yuuri was gone.

Viktor reached over the seat for the bouquet of roses he’d picked up before coming. He would walk up to the desk, act charming and somewhat abashed to be delivering flowers but oh so forgetful of the dancer’s room number…

Viktor closed the door and took off across the side street to the back of the hotel. He headed toward the front of the building, sticking to the winding sidewalk that cut through the brush. The hotel’s entrance gleamed warmly as Viktor stepped inside, rehearsing the lines over and over again under his breath.

“Hello,” Viktor smiled warmly to the two girls behind the reception counter. They both blushed. “I was wondering if you could help me? I’m very sorry to ask this, but can you tell me the room number of a...Yuuri Katsuki staying here? I have a flower delivery for him?” Viktor raised the bouquet, grinning sheepishly.

“Sorry, sir, but we’re not allowed to give you the room number. It’s a violation of our customers’ privacy,” one of the girls piped up, eyes brimming with regret. Red still stained her cheeks as she stared at him. It made his stomach roil.

A flash of rage spiked through him, but Viktor gritted his teeth around a smile. “Certainly. I understand. Is there any way you could let him know that I’m down here? I wanted to give these to him in person.”

“Oh, do you know him?” The other girl smiled pleasantly.

“Ah… we’ve met a few times. Here and there. Yuuri isn’t able to visit the city all the time, because of his training with the company and all, but I cherish the moments that we do get to spend together,” Viktor flashed a grin.

The girls sighed pleasantly. “He’s the black-haired one, right? The one the director is mooning over? He even asked that his principal dancer have the room  _ right _ next to his. Asshole. Well, anyway, Yuuri actually left his room maybe ten minutes ago. Perhaps you could catch him outside? Or wait until later?”

Ah. Even better. Viktor could get him before Yuuri found his way back inside here. It would be so much easier.

But the woman’s first words rankled him.  _ The one the director is mooning over? He even asked that his principal dancer have the room right next to his.  _ He’d never wanted to kill a man before, but now, Viktor wasn’t so sure anymore. Yuuri belonged to him. Only him. The director would never have him. Not ever. He would be dead long before ever letting his disgusting fingers near the delicate dancer.

“Thank you, loves. Can I leave the bouquet with you? You can give it to him, right?” Viktor winked at them and they blushed again, impossibly darker than before. “And have a good rest of your night,” Viktor inclined his head to them and turned out of the building to the sound of their soft giggling.

He set off down the paths leading to the back of the building, chest tightening with each step. If he didn’t play this right, Yuuri would never be his. He had to focus.

“Yeah, we’re flying in tomorrow morning. You picking me up at the airport or do I have to call a taxi?” A soft voice filtered down to his ears from someone walking up ahead. Viktor ducked behind a tree, hands clenching anxiously. The voice was moving farther up the way he was going. The silver-haired man followed, unease coiling in his gut. He didn’t want anyone to see him sneaking around. The less witnesses to catalogue him in their minds as someone suspicious, the better.

“Are you making Katsudon?”

Viktor moved closer and ducked behind one of the tall hedges lining the sidewalk.

The voice belonged to a smaller body. A delicate, graceful one he recognized.

_ Yuuri. _

What luck.

“Hmm, yeah, the performance was alright. I stumbled a bit on one of my turns. It wasn’t too obvious. Alex missed his cue.” A sigh. “Yeah, I don’t know why Kevin chose him for the lead part. The  _ Pas De Deux  _ is one of the most important parts of the production! He chose the worst possible dancer for the part of Don Quixote. Alex can’t fouette to save his life.”

He had to hang up the phone before he returned to the hotel. Viktor couldn’t grab him now and alarm the person on the other end of the line. He had to wait, but it hurt to do so. Yuuri was  _ right there. _

“I did thirty two last night. A new record.”

Viktor could hear the grin in his voice. He smiled. The dancer’s happiness was simply infectious.

“Anyway, I’m gonna let you go now, Phichit. I have to get up early. But I’ll see you tomorrow at the airport. I’ll text you.”

This was it.

Excitement coursed through his veins, set his heart afire. It leaped madly in his chest.

Viktor could feel the electricity of this moment coursing through him, all the way to his fingertips, so they tingled and burned like he was holding a candle to them.

He saw the phone lower to Yuuri’s side, saw the raven-haired man slip it into his pocket and turn back to the hotel.

And for a moment, Viktor was unsure. Was this even possible? Could he do this? Could he successfully kidnap someone? What if something went wrong? How was he supposed to explain an assault?

But the adrenaline was already tugging him forward forcefully as if they were magnets drawing each other. He leaped out from behind the tree and stumbled down the sidewalk after the raven-haired man.

Yuuri startled and turned.

Viktor clenched his fists. He hadn’t meant to rush out like this. He had planned to stroll down part of the sidewalk like he’d been there the whole time. Just another walker. Not suspicious.

Now the plan was already going to hell…

“Please, help me,” Viktor blurted out.

Yuuri’s brown eyes, so beautiful, more beautiful than in Viktor’s daydreams, widened in surprise.

“I...what?”

“Please… I-I think I hit a dog with my car,” Viktor continued rambling. In his mind, he could hear his mother’s voice calling him a fool. “I don’t know what to do. Please help.”

“Oh, shit. Of course,” Yuuri stammered and stepped forward to follow him.

Oh this was too good to be true. Viktor set off toward his car, nearly sprinting as he turned down the side street that connected the hotel’s parking lot to the pawn shop next door. Viktor’s car was parked along the street. The doors were unlocked. Everything was prepared.

“I hit him when I was backing up,” Viktor called, leading him toward the back of his car. This was it.

He unzipped the Ziploc bag with the cloth as Yuuri rounded the corner after him. The raven-haired man moved as if to lean down and inspect under the car, and Viktor snapped and rushed forward, not really thinking about what he would do.

In one smooth movement, he had the cloth out and pressed against Yuuri’s mouth and nose. He tightened his arm hard around the dancer’s body and revelled for a moment in the feel of their bodies pressed so tightly together.

It seemed too easy for a moment.

Yuuri didn’t make a sound and he didn’t struggle.

Viktor wondered if he was doing this right.

And then the dancer whimpered and flailed in earnest. His body was strong. He could probably take Viktor out and then run away, back to the hotel to call the police and charge him for assault.

No. Viktor couldn’t let him.

_ Everything  _ had led up to this moment. All the pieces had fit together so nicely. Viktor wasn’t about to fail here when he was  _ so close  _ to getting what he wanted.

He tightened his arm around Yuuri’s waist, and rubbed the cloth back and forth before covering his mouth and nose again. He didn’t want to hurt the dancer, or beat him, so he reached down and slid his hand up between Yuuri’s thighs, stroking.

The raven-haired man gasped indignantly.

And that was all it took.

One inhale.

Yuuri’s limbs weakened, his body sagged. Viktor tugged him up flush against his chest. He switched hands so his left held the cloth and he used his right to run his fingers through the dancer’s soft hair.

It was so silky.

Viktor wanted to run his hands through it forever, feel it slide against his skin.

He leaned down and kissed Yuuri’s temple.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he murmured against the soft skin. The dancer went completely and utterly limp. “I’ve got you now.”

He slipped the cloth back into the Ziploc bag and then scooped Yuuri up bridal style. In the back seat of his car there was a large pile of rope and scarves. Viktor tugged the dancer into the backseat and then began the arduous process of binding his limbs down so he couldn’t kick or flail if he woke too soon.

Viktor wanted to hold Yuuri in his arms forever, but he tore himself away with a regretful sigh and wrapped the last scarf tight around his mouth to gag him.

“We’re going home now, sweetheart. You’re going to love it there,” Viktor leaned down and pressed his lips to Yuuri’s forehead.

 

***

 

It was finally time to take out the specimen. Viktor pulled the spreading board out of the closet and carried it to the worktable where the mounting frame was already set up. It had been a long week of waiting for the specimen to dry, but the moment had finally come.

He pulled each of the pins out and lifted the strips of tracer paper.

The wings were stretched and dried. They held the flared shape permanently.

Perfect.

Viktor picked up the edge of one wing with his forceps and carefully glued a clear mount to the specimen’s thorax. He let it dry for a minute as he prepared the shadowbox. He squeezed a drop of clear silicone glue to the bottom of the base and set it down in the center of the acrylic frame, holding it down for half a minute.

The specimen was glued perfectly.

Viktor inspected the beautiful body, marvelling at every exquisite detail in the wings.

They were like a sparrow’s wings tapering into gentle curves. The vein lines spread out across the membrane like silver-lined feathers. The hind wings were ruffled along the bottom and lined with faint red spots. The inside seam of the black wings faded down to a light cream edge.

Both wings were dusted silver from the tiny scales and Viktor was suddenly glad that he hadn’t given in to his desire to stroke the soft wings.

The body was a beautiful bright red that stood out against the clear frame.

Such a marvelous specimen.

Tears sprang to Viktor’s eyes as he trailed his gaze over the exquisite mosaic of the butterfly’s wings and body.

Finally he closed the acrylic frame so the insect was trapped between the two frames.

He hung it up in his bedroom, on the wall across from his bed so each morning he woke up, the butterfly was the first thing he saw in the morning.

He pinned a label to the bottom of the acrylic frame:

 

ATROPHANEURA SEMPERI

aka “BLACK BALLERINA”

M, Philippines

 

The specimen was perfect. It reminded Viktor of a beautiful dancer draped in red and black, leaping across a bright stage, demanding the gaze of every spectator in the audience.

He stroked the clear frame lovingly.

Atrophaneura Semperi.

Yuuri.

 

***

 

Viktor sat on the soft carpeted floor of the cellar room with Yuuri in his lap.

He couldn’t help himself.

He hugged the dancer’s body against his chest, sighing at the fit of their bodies so perfectly together. He tucked Yuuri’s head beneath his chin and rocked the dancer’s body back and forth. He was still unconscious from the chloroform, but it wouldn’t be long until he woke again.

Viktor was so excited to start his life anew with this man.

So beautiful.

He nuzzled the soft black hair and ran his hands down smooth arms.

Viktor threaded their fingers together.

“My Yuuri,” he whispered and pressed soft kisses against the dancer’s delicate shoulder. “You’re here. Finally here. I won’t let you go. My Yuuri, stay with me forever.”

The raven-haired dancer stirred.

**Author's Note:**

> When I was doing research for this story, I wanted Viktor to be working on a butterfly that really captures "Eros". Lo and behold I found "Atrophaneura Semperi", an amazing black and red butterfly which is also strangely known as the "Black Ballerina". It was so perfect. I'm still kind of shocked by how the pieces fit together.
> 
> Also I have a newfound respect for butterfly taxidermy as a hobby. There is a whole process you have to go through to have that end product of a mounting board with a ton of beautiful butterflies in it. If anyone is interested in learning more, you can email me and I'll give you the links to the websites and videos I looked to for information on butterfly taxidermy and mounting.
> 
> ***Note: I do NOT condone people going out and killing butterflies simply to preserve them and pin them in a case. There are butterfly dealers around the world that raise different species on farms around the world and will sell any butterflies that have died of natural causes to collectors (museums, hobbyists, entomologists, etc.) to promote the study of these insects.


End file.
